


The Dinner Party

by frangipani



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Academy Trilogy - Kevin J. Anderson
Genre: F/M, JAT timeline, Lighthearted, PWP, Shamelessness, Undercover, mara is a professional, master luke skywalker is frangi's favorite luke, that escalated quickly, the most ridiculous thing I've written, vagueshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 03:11:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10527630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frangipani/pseuds/frangipani
Summary: Why in space would Jedi Master Luke Skywalker, of all people, show up to Coruscant’s premier art collector’s dinner party?(Or, Mara insults Luke's taste in fashion, ruins his clothes, steals an art object from her hosts, and generally has amost excellentevening.)





	

The turbolift doors opened.

In and out, thought Mara. Piece of cake. 

Duchess Meriden Pascour, celebrated figure painter, and Mara’s date for the evening put a soft hand on her lower back to guide her in into the apartment’s opulent reception area. 

A fixture among the Coruscanti nobility, Meriden had been intrigued when Countess Elsbeth Claria returned from her long stay away from the Core and accepted when the Countess, through various go-betweens, sought an introduction. Countess Claria belonged to a very old faction of the court, one which upon sensing the direction of the Galactic conflict had seen to it to remove themselves from the hotbed of the clash. With things proceeding more smoothly, it was time to come home.

At least, that was the impression all Karrde’s carefully forged records gave. That statue was priceless to a royal family in Naboo. It was worth a whole lot of credits to Karrde’s organization.

Mara clasped her clutch as Meriden gave their names to the green-skinned Twi’lek hostess decked in a black domestic’s frock. She graciously waved them through the doors after checking off their names from the guest list on her datapad. While the household had no shortage of service droids, they had hired beings as servers, probably for the cache.

Meriden was thought to favor blondes, so part of Mara’s attire for this job had been what to Mara was a very garish platinum shade of blonde hair, pulled back into a carefully tousled updo, a sufficient amount of tendrils loose to frame her face. Her turquoise gown was off shoulder and form fitting but with a high thigh slit that allowed for some mobility. The clutch bag in her hands was slightly larger than usual since it had a domestic’s frock inside, the exact make and style of the hostess and the various servers.

Her date wore a slinky dress of her own, black with scattered rhinestones, brown hair loose about her shoulders. Only the winding tattoo of a misura vine that stretched from her left upper arm to her wrist marred the almost conservative air of her outfit. Before being invited to the party, Mara had met up with Meriden for caf a couple of times under the pretense of help for settling in Coruscanti high society. If the night went well, she might not only secure the statue, but also a new contact. You never knew when you might need that sort of thing.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been to one of these,” Mara affected some nervousness, making her gaze skitter across the guests about the room, some more eccentrically dressed than others. “I feel so out of practice.”

“You’ll do well, darling.” Meriden smiled. The lights from the reception area glinted off her dangling earrings. “You look stunning.”

“You think so?” She sighed, projecting more nervousness. Nothing quite worked like the fawn act. Everyone loves to play hero. It helped also that, while her smooth olive skin didn't show it, Meriden was about a decade older than her. “I had the hardest time choosing the right dress. You don’t know...spending this much time away...”

Meriden’s hand lifted to her upper back. “Yes, it’s not the same.”

“By the time the holo outlets disseminate what’s in season--”

“Say no more, you’re here now. It’ll be very different.”

Mara smiled brightly at her, as if all her worries had been cast aside. Based on the blueprints she’d looked at, the penthouse had five floors, the bottom floor was the vehicle storage and droid space. The next two floors were the entertaining areas, the first opening up to a rooftop garden --this was where they were now. The dining and kitchen areas were on the floor above. The following two floors were the living areas.

Thanks to information bought from one of the Viscount’s attendants -- those who oversaw the function of the household’s many service droids, Mara knew that was exactly where she needed to go. The statue was in three pieces scattered among the living areas. According to the files she’d been given, it was possible the Viscount didn’t know that the three pieces actually comprised one statue in its entirety. The Nabooian family’s representative had mentioned that the Viscount was probably unaware that he had such an heirloom in his possession to begin with. Given that this knowledge might make him more reticent to let the item go, discretion was a key component to the task. This was why Karrde’s organization was approached...and why Karrde had offered Mara the unconventional job.

Mara didn’t mind. She’d spent months in boardrooms, poring over contracts, market reports, and financial projections. A little variety kept one in shape, and this was the kind of job she could do blindfolded with her hands tied behind her back. In zero-g.

In any case, Mara meant to start in the Viscount’s study on the floor above this one. She just needed to find an opportunity to slip away from the party and get upstairs. Easy.

They walked through the huge doors that lead to the outside gardens. It was a beautiful space, an observatory with wall-to-ceiling protective transparisteel glass through which Coruscant’s skyline stretched out.

A pink-skinned Zeltron server passed by them bearing a tray with wine glasses and Meriden plucked two, offering one to Mara. Meriden stiffened beside her and Mara suppressed a smile. This was why she’d chosen her and possibly why Meriden had been so receptive.

Into the patio area walked one Isma Forsyth, heiress to the Forsyth fortune. She and Meriden had been involved in a very torrid, very public relationship that had just collapsed a little less than month ago for some no doubt soon-to-be-disclosed reason. If the sludgenews were to be believed, both nursed broken hearts over it. The various sources that Mara had tapped into through Karrde’s network had indicated as much. Given that this was the first social event they’d both attend after their break up, Mara was reasonably certain Meriden would be too distracted to notice where she was at any given point.

To test this she said, “The view is incredible. I think Fash,” one of Karrde’s contacts who had served as one of the go-betweens, “said you celebrated your name day here?”

Meriden didn’t respond. Her date’s eyes were entirely on Isma, her dress an eye catching bright green with a neckline that plunged nearly to her navel, displaying a considerable amount of flawless dark brown skin. Her curly hair was in a kind of halo about her face, a honey shade of blonde, darker than Mara’s. The way she stood impervious to the gasps and stares in her direction was as if she were a blueblood herself. 

Isma, however, was alone. Her date had a highly unfortunate case of food poisoning and cancelled at the last minute. A pity for him, which Mara was counting on to be convenient for Meriden...and for her.

“Oh my goodness,” Mara tried again, looking in Isma’s direction. “What a gorgeous dress.”

Sadly, Meriden seemed to come back to herself. “I suppose.”

Mara played it off as if realizing just now who it was. “I’m so sorry. I --”

Meriden waved the apology aside with a forced smile. “Ancient history. Come on now. I have several beings you must meet.”

They circled around the patio area with Meriden introducing her to the Viscount’s guests, most of them artists, anything from musicians to sculptors. The Viscount was known as a collector and patron of the arts, so for the most part his contacts were mainly this sort.

Meriden steered her towards the Viscount, who was occupied talking to an elderly Bothan in a multicolor tunic, the Bothan's long beard in various intricate braids.

“Uncle,” she greeted him.

Viscount Eroth Olver made his apologies to the Bothan and turned to her. Bald and portly, he nonetheless wore a flamboyant mahogany-colored suit. “Meriden, happy you could make it.” He air kissed her on both cheeks. “And who is this lovely lady?”

“This is Countess Elsbeth Claria.”

"What a lovely home you have," Mara said. "Thank you for having me." 

The Viscount had no clue who she was, but that was fine. He simply smiled and took her offered hand, pressing a offhand kiss to it as Old Core protocol dictated. “Well Countess, I do hope you’ll enjoy -- “

But Mara had stopped listening. Her Force senses had improved considerably as of late, a fact never more in evidence than when Luke Skywalker somehow insinuated himself into her space.

She turned her head to the open doors of the patio, feeling a reaction not to dissimilar from Isma’s entrance, a simmering excitement that built into gasps and hushed whispering, beings rushing to cluster around. This was a cozy function compared to the government ones he’d been forced to attend when he’d lived in Coruscant; this response was par for the course.

But there _was_ something to the stupefaction, because why in space would Jedi Master Luke Skywalker, of all people, show up to Coruscant’s premier art collector’s dinner party? The Viscount, well connected as he was, hardly belonged in the Chief of State’s social circle. Most in Coruscant's art circles would find politics a bore, Mara was sure.

She herself didn’t know why he was there. If Luke had picked up a hobby in fine art collection -- a thought that threatened to make her throw her head back and laugh loud and long -- or some acquaintances in Coruscant's high art circle, she’d certainly seen no indication of it. Then again, she thought with the usual discomfort, she hadn’t been back to Yavin 4 in a good while. It was highly unlikely but not outright impossible. As probable as having one's hand go through a wall, she mused. The laws of physics did state that if one did it enough times eventually it’d happen. The universe might end first though.

What was more certain was that if she’d felt him, he was sure to have felt her, certainly with more accuracy, disguise or no disguise. She handed a nearby server her half-finished glass.

Just in time too, because the Viscount peeled himself away with his excuses to go greet his most celebrated guest. Mara looked towards Meriden, who also stared with undisguised interest at the clamor, and maybe this was just her chance.

Mara placed a hand on Meriden’s shoulder. “I think I see one of the servers with the appetizers. I’m famished -- would you like something? I’ll be right back.”

She wasn’t that sure Meriden heard her. Isma had walked into her line of sight for a view of the Viscount's new guest as well.

\--

The search in the study unearthed the first piece of the statue in the shelves that were built into the walls. The Viscount hadn't even bothered to hide it nor flaunt it, probably thinking it just another somewhat interesting piece. She slid it into her clutch and hurried down the near abandoned corridors.

A quick trip down the service turbolift, and she took off and tucked her domestic’s black frock into her bag, entering the patio again. With an eye to the server with the appetizers she got the two plates of whatever and walked forward to freeze suddenly...

Luke was talking to Meriden. 

If he had asked about her and put her on the spot, she’d kill him. 

She knew all his weak spots now.

He’d had enough sense to get rid of the Jedi robes for the occasion, but as usual, his selection was beyond austere; black jacket, black vest, black shirt, all tapered, creating a lean silhouette commonly concealed under Jedi robes. The lightsaber he wore at his waist had all the subtlety wearing thermal detonators for earrings.

But he’d cut his hair. There was that.

On a closer look there seemed to be some subtle design on his vest.... interesting maybe, not enough to make up for the whole Sunesi preacher effect, though.

Luke had turned his head and was staring at her, probably sensing her scrutiny, jaw slack, blue eyes wide-- no, that was not it.

The disguise. Right. Maybe he hadn't known.

Meriden turned towards her. “Elsbeth.” 

Luke’s humor rippled out that instant, as if he’d found the name _hilarious_.

Mara kept the smile even though she wanted to scowl. She didn’t chose the name. It’d been chosen for her with all the appropriate documentation -- found, thanks to Ghent. She’d had it since she was eighteen. It was her most solid cover for these sort of milieus. 

No one remembered Countess Claria had once been a redhead.

“I was wondering where you were. I want you to meet someone.”

Mara turned her head to the side. “The great war hero and head of the Jedi Order Master Skywalker needs no introduction.”

That came out a bit arch, but nothing to be done. Luke’s amusement continued flaring high. Maybe that was why he flashed her entirely the wrong smile for the occasion, an alignment of maybe ninety percent fighter pilot, ten percent Luke Skywalker, and zero percent sedate Jedi Master. Nine hells.

Meriden gestured to her. “This is Countess Elsbeth Claria recently returned to Coruscant.”

Now she needed to follow protocol and offer her hand. Her evening was not supposed to go like this.

Sighing inwardly, Mara stretched a hand and bit out, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He clasped it in his, brought it to his lips too deliberately, grazing his lips against her knuckles, and keeping her hand a touch too long. She tried not to think of the spark that lifted from where his lips touched her skin, wondering instead where the hell he'd gotten that boldness. 

Mara fought the urge to look at Meriden -- that would only draw more attention.

“All mine, I’m sure,” he said, and he was not releasing her hand so she slowly inched it away herself, careful not to let her indignance show.

She sensed nothing but that same curiosity from Meriden. She hadn’t seemed to have registered anything amiss. 

“What brings you here, Master Skywalker?” was all the duchess said. “I didn’t know you dabbled in the arts.”

“I don’t, but I do have some dealings with the Viscount,” he replied easily. 

Mara couldn’t resist. Dealings. Please. “Really?” 

“Some Jedi artifacts were passed to court families as art objects, the Viscount has been helpful to our efforts to tracking them down.”

“How interesting,” she managed to get out before some baron or other almost forcibly pulled Luke away to tell him of his collection of authentic Ewok-made wicker baskets, Luke blaring reluctance like a rank amateur. She hoped he'd spend the whole evening hearing in loving detail of the many varieties that existed. It would be no less than what he deserved for trying to rile her up. 

Mara turned to Meriden and passed her one of the small plates with hor d'oeuvres. “It took me so long to track the server down, but these are delicious. You _must_ give me the name of your uncle’s caterer.”

Meriden mentioned her favorite caterers on Coruscant and the conversation flowed idly from there, Mara watchful for an opportunity to make her escape. She found it maybe twenty minutes later as the musicians were setting up, when Isma came into Meriden's line of vision again.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” Mara started softly. “But maybe you could...talk to her. Resolve whatever it is between you.”

"It's not resolvable." Meriden shook her head sullenly. “Besides, look at her surrounded by her entourage.”

Mara frowned. Meriden had a point. “Just fans. Not a date.” She paused. “Introduce me.”

Meriden looked at her. “That’s a bit gauche.”

Mara allowed herself a short laugh. “All’s fair in love and war.”

Meriden chuckled. “True. Are you sure?”

Mara ducked her head. “You’re my bridge to Coruscanti high society, this is almost part of the understanding.”

Meriden blushed. “No, Elsbeth. I do like you--”

Mara waved a hand. It had worked out perfectly. “It doesn’t offend me. Last thing I need now that I’m back are...complications... if you take my meaning.” It was not acting at all when she sighed, “My life is complicated enough as it is.”

Meriden nodded. “I take your meaning.” She slid her arm around Mara’s waist. “I appreciate this.”

“Don’t mention it.” Maybe it was her own self consciousness being caught working, but she distinctly felt Luke’s eyes on her as she and Meriden approached Isma.

She wasn’t going to be distracted and gazed ahead to where Isma had turned in their direction. A group of several beings stepped aside so she could walk towards Meriden.

“Meriden,” Isma greeted, a chilly note it. “How kind of you to come say hello. Who is this?” 

Mara could feel the pulse of Isma’s hostility, even though her face and demeanor betrayed absolutely nothing. 

“I wanted to introduce Countess Elsbeth Claria, a recent arrival to Coruscant.”

Isma smiled graciously, the animosity still thrumming in her sense. Mara got the feeling Isma wanted to take her wine glass and pour it over her head. “Welcome, Countess Claria.”

Mara lowered her head, trying not to let the smoldering hostile feeling get to her. Being a Force user had its downsides. “Thank you.” 

The best thing she could have hoped for happened then. Isma’s eyes flickered to Meriden, the animosity shifting to hurt, and she said, “Now that you’re here, I was wondering if I could have a word with you, Meriden?” Her eyes shifted onto Mara. “I’ll borrow her for just a second.” She didn’t let Mara respond before she grasped Meriden’s arm and lead her off, her entourage dissolving into the party.

Mara was free.

She wove her way back into the apartments, reached a spot relatively free of guests and servers and grabbed the domestic outfit, ready to duck into the service corridors. She stopped. Had to.

“What do you want, Skywalker?”

“Just curious,” came his casual reply as he walked out of the shadows hands in his pockets. “I know you never come to these for fun.”

She snorted. “Do you?”

He grinned. “Sometimes.”

She gave him a look she hoped conveyed the full force of how unimpressed she was. “Lovely as it is catching up, I really need to get back -- “

He stepped right in her path.

Mara furrowed her brows at him. “What’s wrong with you? First that show earlier in front of _my date_ \--”

He lowered his head chuckling. “The duchess only has eyes for the Forsyth heiress.”

Which was the point.

“Which is the point, right? So she won’t be likely to notice you nosying. You’re obviously working -- looking for something?”

Mara side stepped. He wasn't picking up her thoughts, as if such a thing was possible, he was making reasoned assumptions. When had she become so easy to read? No point in denying it though. “Of course I am. Go back to the party before you blow my cover.”

Suddenly he was right behind her, close enough that she could feel his breath by her neck, but before she could step away, he’d tsk’ed at her. “I’d almost think you don’t want me here.”

She gritted her teeth. Move. It was just one step. She had things to do. The domestic outfit burned in her hand. “I don’t.”

He let out a low laugh. “Let me see if I can change your mind.” 

A barely perceptible brush of his fingertips across her shoulder, and Mara whirled, inhaling sharply, but he was already several paces away, leaving her to look at his receding back numbly, her skin left tingling in his wake. She shook herself and cleared her mind, darting forward and into the service halls. 

\--

The second piece of the statue was in the guest bedroom on the bureau as her information said it would be. Mara wrapped it quickly, and dropped it into her bag, dashing back towards the service turbolifts. Sensing some beings’ approach, she ducked behind some tapestries until they'd moved on. She rushed into the turbolift, damning how much time it had taken her. Meriden had to have noticed. 

The crowd had begun walking into the apartments and heading towards the winding stairs up to the dining area. She fell into step beside Meriden, pasting a contrite expression on her face.

“I am so sorry, I had this comm from my father and I had to take it,” she gasped out.

Meriden turned to her, her demeanor morose enough to hint that the situation between her and Isma continued unresolved. “And how is the Count?” 

“On Kuat,” she replied. “Tending to business. Cranky as always.”

Meriden made a vague sound of acknowledgement.

Mara lowered her voice. “And Isma?”

Meriden shook her head. “I should have never talked to her. It always ends the same way.”

Mara looked over the gathered guests. She couldn’t see Isma, she might have gone on well ahead. She almost caught herself scanning for Luke and with a flash of annoyance brought herself back. She still had that last piece of the statue to find.

She needed to fan Meriden’s fixation on Isma, so she asked, “What was the disagreement about?”

Meriden sighed. “You can’t possibly want to know.”

“Why? Is it personal?”

Meriden shook her head. “No, only boring. The Forsyths have recently bought land in Cioran. Isma has been called to oversee them build their estate there.”

“Cioran?” Core world, as far as Mara knew, but at the ends of it. Almost Mid Rim. Not much there as far as Coruscanti uppercrusters were concerned.

“So she’s leaving Coruscant.”

Meriden nodded. “The project might take several years.”

“Poor thing,” Mara poured sympathy into the words. “I imagine it’ll be terribly boring. I would know.”

They continued their climb up the stairs with the crowd. “Probably. So it’s for the best that this between us ran its course.”

“Did you decide it?”

Meriden nodded again. “I have my life here. I can’t pick up and follow her.” She wrinkled her nose. “To Cioran, no less. It may as well be Mid Rim, it’s so far. No matter what she says, what would I even do there?”

“Right,” Mara found herself saying, but she’d have to figure out some other way to have Meriden inch back to Isma so she could do her final leg of the night. 

The stairs lead them to opened to the expansive dining area, large enough that there were several doorways that opened up to the main corridor of the floor. Glinting antique chandeliers hung above a long, impeccably set table. Servers fluttered to and fro guiding the guests to their placements -- her and Meriden towards the top, she spied Isma several seatings across and below them. From her previous introductions, she knew Grosruls Ti, the Mon Calamari ballet master of the MoCa Company, and Du'm Fales, the Bith blues musician, who sat across from them.

The Mon Calamari raised her domed head. “Master Skywalker,” she called out effusively. “I almost thought I wouldn’t get a chance to speak with you.”

Mara closed her eyes. The chances of him having the seat next to her had to be astronomically low. Had to be. He must be just making the rounds.

“Master Ti,” Luke’s voice carried that warmth that called on goodwill the way his hand called a lightsaber. He took the seat beside Mara's and across from the ballet master. Clearly the probabilities had not been low enough.

“I had the pleasure of seeing your company's production of _Rain over Sea_ last year,” he continued. “It was very moving.” 

Years of being tossed head first into politics and his sister’s coaching had done him well. Too well. Because it almost pushed the bounds of credibility that the Luke Skywalker whose favorite drink was blasted _hot chocolate_ of all things could possibly discuss the highlights of a Mon Calamari ballet performance with a ballet master. The blues musician beside her enthusiastically joined the conversation after Meriden introduced them. 

Not that Mara wasn’t familiar with the ballet. She’d gone to more than a few performances in her time, she did enjoy those things. Well, she had at one point and then she...stopped. Her life became busy, she spent most of her time jumping from planet to planet. Other things were more important than passing the time. She was saving up for a ship. _Her_ ship. Top of the line.

Naturally, it was at that moment that Meriden asked, “What do you think, Elsbeth?”

“Oh,” Mara glided back into the conversation. “I’m unfortunately not very familiar with the most recent productions. Not as much as I am with the Opera, although it’s been some years.” She went into a long story about her entirely fictional father’s melodramatic taste as a counter to her own ending with, “But now that we’re back, I look forward to re-educating myself.” She smiled toothily at the ballet master and reached for her glass, trying very hard not to glance at Luke.

The twinkling of glasses rang out as their host called everyone's attention to begin his speech, some banality or other that she tuned out while she tried to think of how to make her excuse to find the last piece of the statue. 

That was when she felt Luke’s hand on her leg right under the table...and in the surprise she somehow lost years of training, blatantly looking over at Meriden to see if she’d caught it. Meriden was staring off to the end of the table where the Viscount was talking. Mara risked a look at her lap, which served as visual confirmation. She threw Luke a sidelong glance, but he was, like all at the table, turned towards the Viscount.

Mara blinked, going over her options. She could stand up...but the Viscount was still talking. All eyes would be on her if she did. She shifted slightly. Luke’s hand slid up her outer thigh then back down, just off the side of her knee. 

This...didn’t make any sense.

All right, she may have let a little something slip ages ago. It was hard to shield at all times with training. But that didn’t mean he could just show up and take liberties like this. While she was _working_ , no less. The sheer nerve of it.

Mara stayed very still, mind poring over what to do. The Viscount was _still_ talking. She almost reached for her wine, but then realized at the last minute that this would be a toast. She grabbed her water instead and took a very long drink.

Luke’s hand found the slit of her dress, inching in over her naked skin.

Mara almost dropped the water all over herself.

Very carefully, Mara put the water back on the table, unable to contain the hot flush brought on the play of his fingers, now flat just off the side of her knee. It was like before. One step. She could scoot to the side or to the front, cross her legs to move them away, but the idea of doing so started niggling a little, as if she were cowering.

Against all logic and common sense, she did the opposite. Mara sat slightly forward on the chair, willfully easing all her muscles. 

She didn’t cower. 

Mara lifted her chin. The Viscount might be making the longest toast in galactic history. 

She was rewarded with a glance from Luke, which she saw from the corner of her eye. It felt like a victory. She could just sit here, statue-straight. Obviously, he was looking for some reaction, and it was just as simple as not giving it to him. She grabbed her napkin and dropped it on her lap for an extra bit more concealment, apart from the tablecloth.

She was a professional.

His fingers trailed just over her knee under the dress, and skimmed the skin of her inner thigh, lazily, up and down, up and down.

Mara thought of the statue piece, probably in the master bedroom. Once the dinner was underway, she’d excuse herself and subtly make her exit. It’d be smooth. _Graceful_.

Luke’s fingers were still at the inside of her thigh, he’d curled them a little.

She just needed to wait for the food to be served and have a couple of bites. Second course? Maybe during the main course would be better.

The faint scratch of his fingernails.

Mara sucked in a breath, casting a surreptitious glance about. No one had seemed to notice.

He did it again and it wasn’t a hot flush anymore so much as a flare of sensation between her legs, a surge of heat. His hand firmly squeezed the inside of her thigh, more of a knead, and it took every bit of will she had not to move. She wanted to shift, so much it made her spine lock, pressure now low in her pelvis. Only spite kept her motionless. That and pride.

Luke shifted beside her and she wondered at his overall state. He went back to the near careless stroke of his fingers up and down her thigh. Surely, if he was doing this, then there was something going on for him too. She reached out to find nothing, his shielding was airtight as usual and by then his hand was just by the hem of her underwear and --

Hard to make anything out through the sizzle and crackle of wanting his touch unleashed. He only slid his fingers across the damp fabric, vaguely exploratory, and that sort of tentativeness did nothing for her, but here...Mara placed her hands on the table, pressed them down hard to curb the impulse to tilt her hips against his fingers, to turn the lingering touch into a full blown caress. 

The Viscount needed to stop talking. 

Or he could talk forever. It was becoming a hard call.

She inhaled, and this time it was a mistake because Meriden looked over at her with a hint of a smile. “I think this is his favorite part of the dinner parties he throws,” she whispered.

She seemed to expect an acknowledgement so Mara plastered a smile on her face and ventured a polite, “Ah,” very much trying to ignore that Luke’s fingers were threading themselves under her underwear. 

Meriden tilted her head. “Are you alright?”

No, she thought. Your galactic hero has his hand up my skirt and I’m not sure how to feel about it. 

“Great.” Her voice was even. That was good.

Luke chose that moment to turn slightly towards her. He spoke to Meriden and _chaos take her_ , half of his hand was right _in_ her underwear. Mara closed a fist over her fork on top of the table.

“Does he always make this ah... thorough a speech?” Luke was whispering. His fingers drifted over her curls in a ghosting touch.

Meriden nodded slightly. “He wants everyone to feel welcome, it’s a bit of a habit.”

Mara wasn’t listening. The Viscount was still talking and, fine. She scooted forward, making it so the touch wasn’t quite so delicate. She slid her legs shut, trapping his hand, and canted her hips a little for a lovely agonizing second of a grind, before she forced herself to relax.

Luke might have gasped a little, but it was hard to tell because Meriden spoke again, “Elsbeth are you sure you’re alright?” She looked pointedly at Mara's fist where it was clenched, knuckle gone white, around her utensil.

Mara laughed lightly and made herself let go. The laugh sounded too forced, but it was the best she could do. “Yes.”

And damn him, Luke turned to them again, right as he slid his fingers under her folds, still in a whisper of a touch, just under her clit. His eyes fell on Mara, face a mask of mild concern.

“Something wrong, Countess?”

She was going to kill him, she decided. Even he’d only half trained her, she could still do it. With this very fork in front of her.

Spite was again her ally as she pulled on a smile with a swish of her head, looking at him. “No, nothing.”

Luke moved closer, still affecting concern, selling the kriff out of it. “You _are_ looking a little...flushed.”

“He’s right. And look, you’re almost done with your water,” Meriden responded, and to Mara’s horror, lifted a subtle hand. One of the servers approached, and _this_ was when Luke slid one of his fingers into her.

Mara gasped and covered it up with a cough as Meriden asked the server to refresh her glass, then brought her attention back to the Viscount.

It was a shallow push, just until the first knuckle. Mara bit her lip and kept herself completely still as the server refilled her glass. Luke’s finger however, was not, stroking up slowly, just as slowly stroking down, easing into her, then out, and repeating the whole thing.

The server retreated and with a cautiously released sigh, Mara squirmed in her chair, unable to control the restless shift of her hips. She was alternating between hot and cold, as if all of her were in gooseflesh, even her scalp was prickling. 

Mara dared a glance in Luke’s direction, finding him staring at her. Well, his gaze was slightly lower--

Kriff. She knew she should have worn a bra.

His eyes slid up, and there was really no reason why he should blush, not with his hand right between her legs, feeling how wet she was, making her more so. She did expect it though, some of that farmboy self consciousness, an averted gaze, at the least, a lowered head, maybe more as a reflexive response. So it was with some measure of astonishment that she took in the brazen way he met her eyes...and the slow curl of his smile as his finger slid up brushing against her clit. 

Mara shoved her shoulders back. She _was_ going to kill him. Not with her fork though, she thought as his finger circled gently, _perfectly_ , and she fought to keep her breathing steady.

With her spoon.

Just...she spread her fingers, splaying them over the table. Just right after she came.

The Viscount took that moment to hold his glass up and said, “Now, friends, let us raise our glasses to another year of beauty and transcendence!”

She reached for her glass, not daring to lift it, but then Luke’s hand withdrew and he didn’t look at her as it slid over the napkin on her lap, a careless wipe, on its way to his glass.

Mara gave herself a second to calmly note her breathless rage at the turn of events, to snuff it, and then she was reaching for her own glass to hold it up with her best Countess Claria smile at Meriden.

The room erupted with cheers and applause, which did not at all drown the screaming between her legs. Or her desire to inflict bodily damage for it.

More so, when Luke leaned over after towards her and Meriden and actually said, “That was a lovely speech though, didn’t you think so?”

Mara clenched her teeth. 

“I have it in confidence,” Meriden leaned from beside Mara with a fond smile, “that he worked on it for a long time.”

Luke’s expression went thoughtful in a way that made Mara want to hiss. “He has a bit of the poet in him.”

A laugh escaped Mara, a shade darker than she meant. 

Meriden’s gaze shifted onto her in slight confusion.

Mara eased her smile to acceptable politeness levels. “I’m taken aback, Master Skywalker,” she modulated her voice to charming. “That someone with such,” she coughed delicately, “martial disposition should mention poetry.”

“I wouldn’t describe my disposition as warlike. And peace is more the province of Jedi than war,” he added almost as an afterthought.

“Severe,” Mara corrected turning more fully towards him and away from Meriden, baring her teeth. Kriff politeness levels. “Just going by your taste in fashion.”

He leaned slightly over to make sure to make eye contact with Meriden, flashing the duchess that easy, rueful smile. “Oh, I admit not having an eye for that. Too many years trying to avoid notice, I’m afraid. Might be a lost cause.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Meriden assured lightly, as if on cue. “One cannot go wrong with the simple elegance of black. Don’t you think so, Elsbeth?”

Master Ti and Fales were nodding.

Mara narrowly avoided slinging a disdainful look in Luke’s direction. It’d come across as frustrated resentment and she refused to give him the pleasure. 

Instead, she turned fully to Meriden, shifting to almost obscure Luke from view and pushed back some of the loose tendrils of her ridiculous hair. 

“Perhaps.” 

Some hostility or something must have seeped out apparently because Meriden laughed awkwardly and had the _terrible_ idea to bend towards her and chide, “Elsbeth, darling.”

Beside her Luke’s shields gave just enough for him to aggravate her with his amusement either at the name or at the endearment -- probably both, his sense having the quality of a guffaw. If she were a lesser woman she’d slam her very pointed heel at his shin for it.

Commending herself for her self restraint, she reached for her wine glass. The servers approached with the the first course. 

Master Ti who had witnessed the exchange addressed Meriden, “Speaking of poetry, I heard your latest project is a series based on _Chaos_.”

“In its infancy,” Meriden said as the plates were served. “Rather macabre, but we must go where the inspiration takes us.”

Fales beside Master Ti nodded.“Very true and one never knows -- a project that navigates despair might end on an uplifting note.”

“Certainly, and actually what a stroke of fortune that you could join us, Master Skywalker,” Meriden tried to look over Mara and she was forced to sit back, so Meriden could include him. “You might be a source of knowledge of these sorts of things. Chaos is, after all, the netherworld of the Force. The space of demons and spirits in torment.”

Mara could almost hear his wince as she took another sip of her wine even though she was studiously avoiding looking at him. “Others have more knowledge of myths and mysticism than I do, our historian, Tionne Drea, for one. Shall I put you in contact?”

Meriden beamed, delight pouring out of her. “Please.”

Mara imagined Meriden would live to regret her request. Start Tionne up on Jedi lore and there was no telling when she'd stop -- Luke knew just as much as she did, too. He just didn’t want to spend the time expounding on grim Force fairy tales. Now, if Meriden wanted to learn of the benefits of mindfulness in one’s daily life or the Living Force's relation to all things, Mara was reasonably sure Luke would be tripping over his feet to oblige, Force talent or no. _Meriden_ might trip on her feet to get away, like most sentients looking to avoid a painful death by boredom.

“It seems different from your last project -- _A Study in Water Nudes_?” Master Ti was saying. “It did very well in Mon Calamari.”

“Quite the compliment,” Fales noted. “They know their water arts there.”

"All in the model,” the words left her with a mournful tinge. Almost everyone’s eyes went over to Isma, currently in conversation with a Twi'lek man next to her, his lekku intricately tattooed -- an acrobat, Mara knew from the earlier introductions.

Unfortunately for both of them, as Meriden’s date, it would fall onto Mara to do the comforting.

“A model is only the tool.” She placed a hand on Meriden's shoulder, summoning her Countess Claria air. “The eye of the artist is _everything_.”

Meriden gave her a wan smile. “If that were so with a muse.”

Mara furrowed her brows at her. “But it is.”

Fales added, as if commiserating, “If it were an ordinary model, but a muse is something different. When it leaves...one’s creativity is not the same. The universe...shrinks.” 

Mara struggled against the urge to roll her eyes. This was why she'd thought these affairs were exasperating even as a teen. Give her a mass of festering opportunists and their appalling bad taste any day. Artist types always loved to drown themselves in self pity like it was a glass of the finest Alderaanian wine.

“You can find another is what I mean,” she amended, groping quickly for an example. “Hari Seldon’s career did not end after she lost Solstan Wostikan.” 

“That’s different,” Luke spoke up beside her.

She inhaled. Stars help her, he was going to weigh in. On second thought, she brought the fork to her mouth, anything that steered Meriden into Isma’s arms and left her to complete her job in peace. 

“You speak of the Alderaanian poet, right?” Luke continued addressing the table. “Wostikan was the singer she wrote for. Both labeled as radicals in the time of the Empire.”

Fales was nodding his head in Luke’s direction, projecting faint curiosity. 

“Wostikan’s songs were very popular in Tatooine,” he clarified. “My homeworld. I found out about Seldon through my sister later. But Wostikan was apprehended by the Empire. He was taken. It’s a different situation from losing one’s muse, especially if it has to do with a...departure.”

Mara turned around, showing the minimum amount of interest. Convenient or no for getting Meriden’s eyes squarely on Isma, he was baiting her on purpose. There was no way he knew what the nature of their break up was. Departures had nothing to do with the situation here.

“And you would have experience with losing a muse, Master Skywalker?” she asked.

“Oh,” he shook his head lightly. “I don’t. No.”

She brought another forkful to her lips, satisfied.

“But an artist - muse relation has some resemblances to a training relationship,” he offered.

She stabbed at another morsel of food on her plate and chewed furiously. Here? He was going to bring this up here?

“I don’t think so,” she replied tersely after swallowing, and reaching for her wine glass. “Preposterous.” She loaded her words with a note of concerned outrage as she took a sip. “To even make the comparison.” She raised her head towards her date. “Meriden--”

Meriden touched her shoulder. “No, it’s quite all right. I’m curious. I know nothing about apprenticeships of that sort. I studied at the Imperial Academy.”

“There is something to it,” Master Ti mused. “Going by my experience. Do go on, Master Skywalker.”

“We’ve lost students...I’ve lost students. Not to tragedy,” he hastened to add. “Just a conflict of differing circumstances.”

Not students. Student, Mara knew. She stared ahead fixedly. 

Master Ti nodded. “And given the cultivation that goes into a dancer -- or an apprentice, it is a considerable loss, yes.”

“One doesn’t cultivate a muse,” Mara couldn’t help pointing out. “A muse simply exists.”

“I’m not sure,” Meriden spoke up. “Crude as it may be to talk about cultivation, it is not about one and the muse. It is the connection between them -- a connection doesn’t come from nothing, it is made, sustained. One puts part of oneself into it and it blossoms into something else. Inspiration. Art. Unless it disintegrates.” She reached for her glass of wine, melancholy.

Mara patted her shoulder lightly, beyond impatient with all the gibberish. “But it is not the only opportunity for connection, is my meaning.”

“The Countess perhaps overlooks the uniqueness of a specific connection,” Luke put in beside her. “The difficulties of letting such a thing simply...disintegrate.”

Mara shoved the annoyance of Luke contradicting her for sport and bringing up topics with _no relation_ to the one at hand out of her mind. 

This direction _could_ help her.

“If the connection is as unique as that,” she went for a soft, gentle tone, “then are circumstances such a problem?”

Meriden sighed. Silence fell over the table for a few beats.

“On a cheerier topic, I wonder if Master Skywalker has had the opportunity to see the Duchess’ recent work.” Fales’ long fingered hand reached for his glass.

The servers began clearing off the plates. 

“The...water nudes? Haven’t had the pleasure, no.”

“It’s stunning,” Master Ti gushed. “Truly magnificent.” 

“Oh no,” Meriden hung her head modestly. “I hardly think someone as renowned has time for my brush splatters.”

“I don’t imagine there’s much time for culture at the Jedi Academy either.” Mara sniffed. 

Or much else. Her datapad had been on the verge of exploding with messages when she left that wet sock of a planet. Suppliers were reluctant to meet with someone new. A couple of deals were, likewise, on the verge of falling through. Karrde didn't say thank you in so many words, but shortly after her return, she got a raise that bordered on the obscene. So much so she'd been duty-bound to turn it down. Karrde hadn't let her, and so she'd thought of putting it all towards a ship. Her ship. 

“Our classes do tend towards intensive and focused," Luke was saying. "But then our students are adults. The curriculum of the Old Order was far more complete and included courses in the arts -- by necessity given that their education started from childhood.”

“Fascinating,” Master Ti brought her webbed hands together. “If we were to think of those students using the Force as an artistic medium.”

Luke’s eyebrows raised. “Actually, I’ve encountered Force users whose techniques rely on singing and gestures.”

For goodness’ sake.

It was as if a dam had broken, and Master Ti, Fales, and Meriden all flooded him with questions. Mara was acquainted with the Dathomir exploits thanks to Solo, enough to check right out of that conversation, and get back to thinking about how she’d make her departure.

The servers dashed out bearing the second course out of four. She’d leave about halfway through the intermediate course. She had no choice but stick around, surly and bored until then.

Laughter around the table broke through her thoughts. Meriden seemed to be in a better mood, at least.

“Riding a rancor,” she laughed. “Can you imagine, Elsbeth?”

“I’d...rather not.” Mara started on her plate.

“Come now, I’ve always thought there might be a kind of wild grace to them.” Meriden took a bite of her food.

Mara blinked at the image of the rancor she’d seen through that dank, fetid passage at Jabba’s palace near a decade ago, a couple of Gammorrean limbs stuck between its teeth. 

Artists. 

She made herself smile. “I guess I can see it once one gets past the smell of decomposition.”

Luke snorted beside her.

Fales reached for his utensil. “They smell that horrible?”

Mara caught herself. “Oh, I-I wouldn’t know. They only look like they would.” She went back to her plate.

“They do,” Luke told Meriden, a polite note of regret under the words. “They definitely do.”

Meriden appeared crestfallen. “How unfortunate.”

The table ate quietly for a few beats until Meriden asked about Fales’ project, a concept album merging some styles of music Mara didn’t know or care about. She snuck a glance at Luke who stared at the musician across from him as if _he_ had a clue what any of it was. Mara wanted to check her chrono. She darted an eye towards the doorway. Any minute now the servers would come pick up the plates...

She almost started when she felt Luke’s hand at her thigh again. 

“Pardon my ignorance, but what _is_ the difference between jatz and quenk jazz?” he was asking Fales conversationally, like his fingers weren’t just sliding under the slit of her dress, tracing a path up and down her inner thigh.

Mara grabbed her glass of wine. Empty. 

She ground her teeth in frustration as Fales went over a complicated explanation with way too many details that Luke nodded at, his fingers slinking under the hem of her underwear, and she didn’t trust it one bit -- especially after last time -- but she inhaled and forced herself to keep her eyes open. 

Meriden leaned over. “Master Skywalker is quite charming,” she whispered pensively.

Oh, kriff no.

“You wouldn’t expect it from an Order of ascetics.”

Mara made an acknowledging noise from the back of her throat, desperately wanting Meriden to shut up so she could go back to hiding all the rush Luke’s fingers were setting off. 

But his hand suddenly withdrew, not entirely, just away from her underwear, warm as it curved over her thigh, fingers damp with her slick.

Damn him.

“Although...I don’t make it a habit to read the sludgenews, but there were reports some time ago about his being sighted with a blonde.”

Mara tried very hard not to tense. “Really? 

“A rather old fashioned type, if I recall correctly at some government lunch some time ago. And there were others before then. A brunette with short hair and before that, one with hair a rather interesting shade of blue. But all generally attractive, if the rumors are to be believed -- unsubstantiated, mind you.” She seemed to consider it. “Some say they could be prospective students.”

“You think so? Maybe we could ask.”

“No, Elsbeth!” she hissed, but Mara was turning away.

She waited until Master Ti finished with her explanation of the techniques for assembling the water bubbles necessary for a Mon Calamari ballet performance. 

“And this performance that you attended, _Rain over Sea_ was it?” she started, lifting a hand for the server to bring her more wine. “Did you attend it alone, Master Skywalker?”

Luke graced her with that bland expression. “Oh, no. I went with my sister and her husband.” 

His fingers shifted slightly, the pads of them grazing against her skin. The server came back with the wine not a moment too soon. 

She shoved the sensation out of her mind. “If you’ll excuse my being forward, but there was some...chatter in the media about a companion.” She went for her glass and took a sip.

His expression turned a bit guarded. 

“Actually, there’s been reports of several,” she continued.

Luke smiled but it went just a bit tight. “The media exaggerates.”

Meriden let out another awkward laugh. “It does -- always fabricating the most lurid stories. Why, they would have the populace think Master Skywalker is out with a different girl every night as if he were a common holodrama actor," she shook her head disapprovingly, "and not preoccupied with loftier matters.” 

The look on Luke’s face for that one instant came close to making her whole night. He shuffled it away too soon, going back to muted self effacement.

He was probably going to change the direction of the conversation, but Mara wasn’t done. She faked an apologetic look bringing her hand over her mouth.

“Oh, dear me. You’re completely right, Meriden.” She turned to Luke and placed a hand on his arm. “I do apologize for bringing it up. It’s just...curiosity can make a girl forget herself.” 

She reached for her wine, clamping her thighs, tilting her hips for a shameless grind against his hand as she did. He inhaled just a bit too deeply and she hid her smirk behind her glass as she turned away. 

He pinched her thigh.

She choked on her wine, spluttered it clean all over herself and both he and Meriden crowded her. Luke’s hand had withdrawn, again with a wipe at her napkin, but somehow managed to beat Meriden’s to her back.

“Countess, are you alright?” he said scooting towards her, radiating entirely fake concern. 

“Yes, yes,” she grumbled, taking Meriden’s offered napkin. 

“Perhaps some moderation is in order,” he said gently...and proceeded to push her glass a bit further away from her on the table. He must have lowered his shields because it came to her clearly how _amusing_ the whole thing was as his hand gently stroked up her back.

Luke’s hand at her back fell away as the server arrived, and she returned the napkin. 

Mara bent her head. “Of course.” She turned back to Meriden and lowered her voice. “I’m embarrassing myself, aren’t I? I told you spending so much time away from polite society--”

“No need to be so self conscious, darling.” Meriden patted her hand, then clasped her shoulder protectively as she looked over to Luke. “Elsbeth has just returned to Coruscant, her family has spent the last ten years at Asmeru.”

“Asmeru,” he echoed, probably not having a clue of where it was. No one did. That was why they’d chosen it, after all.

“Mid Rim,” Mara waved a hand as if she didn’t want to discuss it. “Between the border of the Senex and Hadar sectors. Our second cousins twice removed are members of the Elegin court.” 

“This is Elsbeth’s first outing since her return,” Meriden added. 

“Meriden!” she scolded.

Before Meriden could respond, Luke inched closer. “I would hardly be the one to judge. Formal gatherings still pose a bit of a challenge for me.”

“You wouldn’t think so,” Meriden assured.

He flashed her his megawatter. “You’re kind to say so, Duchess. But I’m afraid seeing how I spend most of my time at the academy, there might be nothing to be done about that either.”

“I do remember mentions of your frequent business in Coruscant.”

“The academy is formally under the New Republic’s auspices,” he explained. “That necessitates my meeting with government functionaries from time to time. Coruscant is also the media center of the Republic, there’s no better place from which to inform the public of our progress.” 

“With such a busy schedule, it’s a wonder you could make time to come to a get together such as this. I would think a Jedi would stay home and ponder the mysteries of the Force when not otherwise occupied,” Mara put in with some airiness. 

“I am indebted to the Viscount. He invited me to his last two gatherings, but I was unfortunately not in Coruscant for them.” He smiled again in her direction, and that bordered needling. Mara couldn't help narrowing her eyes, wondering if anyone else noticed. “Also...you never know who you’ll get a chance to know better at these things.”

“The last the Viscount held was in celebration of your exhibition,” Master Ti addressed Meriden. “Wasn’t it?”

“Ah, yes at his vacation home in the Western Sea.” Fales moved back as if recalling. “He wanted a water motif to complement the installation.” He continued, meeting Luke’s eyes. “The Viscount’s home by the Western Sea has a lovely pool that overlooks the ocean. He had Mon Cal water bubbles set up with various models within -- like the ballet -- a kind of tribute to the duchess’ work.”

“Sounds beautiful,” Luke offered.

“A bit unsubtle.” Meriden waved a hand. “But he meant well.”

“In his defense, he said his theme was renewal,” Master Ti said. “That could presuppose a certain excess.”

Mara was close to falling once more into a gaping pit of boredom, when Luke’s hand ducked under the slit of her skirt. 

“That is certainly different from how I utilized water in the series.” 

“And how was that, Duchess?” Luke asked as if he cared, fingers stroking up and down Mara’s thigh. 

Meriden launched into a barely comprehensible explanation of water symbolism and her numerous inspirations while Luke’s fingers trailed up her thigh, sliding once more under the hem of her underwear. Mara was certain she didn’t trust it now. 

Meriden was just pausing for breath, about to continue her rambling, when Mara prodded, “I didn’t think Master Skywalker would be so interested in art. What a revelation.”

He turned to her with a small smile, close but not quite a smirk, that instantly put her on edge...or would if she weren’t already differently on edge as his fingers slid across her folds. 

“It’s more for lack of time, but it sounds like the duchess’ work would have a certain appeal for someone like me.” 

She pulled enough focus to flash him a skeptical look. “Someone...like you?”

“When one is from a desert planet, one has a certain appreciation for things that are," he pretended to think, "wet,” and thrust two fingers into her up to the second knuckle.

She gasped, back snapping up.

Meriden turned to her. “Elsbeth?”

Fuck. She covered her face with both hands and leaned forward, voice shaky as he slid the fingers out, not completely, just enough to thrust them in again, the feeling, sharp and electric, shooting up her spine. 

“It’s...it’s just...so...poignant.” She took another gasping breath as he did it again. “Life” Again. “...without expo...” Again. “...expo...sure to water...” 

“Oh," Luke assured her evenly, fingers relentless, "it wasn’t as bad as that.” Mara felt him scoot even closer, fingers sliding in a deeper thrust. And another. “My family," and another, "was in the moisture farming business.”

Her hands over her face muffled her moan as he slid his fingers out and up skidding over her clit. 

"Countess?" Damn him.

"Countess?" That was Master Ti now. Shavit. Shavit.

“You...had to...farm for it...” She tried her hardest to make it mournful, shaking her head to distract from the inevitable roll of her hips against the push of his fingers.

Meriden put a hand on her arm and she jerked away. 

“It’s just so-so-so...” Mara brought her hand on the table, not hard, but a bit more violently than she would have liked, banging the plates, glasses, and utensils, her other hand still covering her face as his fingers left her clit, thrusting into her again. 

"Elsbeth," Meriden called. "Are you alright?"

She nodded vigorously, inhaling deeply. “It's just so...” 

“Hard?” Luke supplied helpfully, and she had enough rationality left to think she was killing him for sure.

She shook her head at him, bringing her hand on the table back to cover her face, leaning forward to push her hips a bit harder against his hand. 

"So...sad..." His fingers were back over her clit and she gasped, regulating that at the last minute. “Just...how...” Her voice tore to a whine now and she was losing any ability to care.

Mara vaguely heard Meriden say, “Elsbeth...” But the only thing that mattered were Luke’s fingers stringing her tighter than a viol wire. 

“Countess?” Luke asked, faking _absolutely earnest_ confusion, and blast him, she took another breath. She wasn’t really listening, but then his fingers eased up ever slightly. Like he might _stop_.

“No!” Mara caught herself and had enough sense to blurt, “No one... should...” Another soft moan escaped from her, she tried to make it forlorn, thought she failed, but she was _so close_.

“...live like that.” Her voice was strangled, her climax looming so large she could almost feel it at her fingertips. Her breathing had gone rapid fire, impossible to control, so she didn’t, folded it instead into a hushed whimper. Every bit of her clenched, drawing forward at his touch. It was right there. Almost. 

“Elsbeth,” Meriden at the horizon of her awareness sounded worried. “Elsbeth, are you alright?”

“Yes!” Mara managed to hiss out, right before her climax hit then fast and _hard_ , near instantaneous escape velocity that had her flaring up and _gone_ , leaving her breathless for a second, shoulders slumping slightly when the feeling receded.

It was for just the space of a gasp, because she came back to herself just in time to heave a couple of fake sobs, bending over even more to ride the aftershocks.

There was silence in the table as she continued her pretense of crying. Luke’s hand withdrew, sliding across the napkin at her lap and ending with feigned tentativeness on her back. His shielding had given just enough for her to sense his shock, as if he hadn’t expected things to go quite so far.

“Master Skywalker’s,” Mara fake-sobbed out, shuddery and pleased, “...plight...is so moving.”

He let out an incredulous half laugh that he quickly smothered under several loud coughs. “There, there.” 

Meriden leaned towards her. “Do you need a moment?”

Actually, this could be very helpful. Mara lifted her head and gasped. “Wait...what...what was in the first course?”

Meriden was taken by surprise, but named a couple of the ingredients.

“Oh no,” Mara sniffed loudly and pushed her chair back, bringing a hand to her throat. “I have a... reaction to jusann spice...especially when it mingles with alcohol. Oh, no.” She met Meriden, Master Ti and Fales’ eyes with a look of contrite horror. She couldn’t look at Luke, she wasn't entirely sure what she’d do, but whatever it was, she was certain it’d blow her cover.

Meriden stood. “Shall I--”

“I have my medicine. This is not the first time...,” She covered her face again. “I must administer it and sit down in a quiet spot for a bit. Oh, how embarrassing. I am so sorry, if you’ll excuse me.” She grabbed her clutch. 

“No apologies needed.” Meriden placed a hand at her elbow as the table all made their assurances that they understood. Mara turned and walked out on rubbery legs and extremely uncomfortably wet underwear, Meriden beside her.

“I feel bad enough that I’ve ruined your lovely dinner with this...my condition, it makes me...emotional at the strangest times.”

Meriden looked concerned. “I can take you to the guest room.”

She stopped at the doorway of the dining room and clasped Meriden’s hand firmly. In a stroke of good luck, she’d felt Isma staring their way behind them. A look confirmed it, she was probably wondering what had caused the scene. Mara drew close to whisper, “Don’t look now, but your muse is intrigued.”

Mara lifted a hand to brush Meriden’s hair back over her shoulder, peering over at Isma as she did. That was a foul look, she thought with some satisfaction. Meriden was sure to be occupied for a while.

“Elsbeth, are you--”

“I’ll be fine, but you shouldn’t let the evening go to waste.” Mara raised a hand to her forehead. Other guests were looking over to her with blatant curiosity. It was the only reason she didn’t let her gaze linger overlong on Luke’s back, and she suspected, why he didn’t turn to look at her, though she sensed he wanted to. Badly. Instead, it seemed like he’d engaged Master Ti in conversation.

“Take the Countess to the lower guest room.” 

Meriden’s voice called her back. She was gesturing to one of the servers. To Mara, she said, “I’ll come check in on you in a bit.”

“Don’t rush,” Mara replied with a sigh. “I’ll probably be napping. These attacks have a way of ending my nights all too early. Go see to your muse.” Mara hesitated. “You might...consider letting her take you to that dreary backwoods planet. Make her entertain you. Or don't, but consider _something_. If your connection is as...unique as all that, it may be worth it.” She paused again. “I would.”

Meriden tilted her head. “Consider something?”

Mara nodded. “Yes, if she wants to that badly. I would...negotiate.” She thought for a moment. “But I don't know anything about these things. Although...your next project is about souls in torment, a near Mid Rim world sounds like it might inspire.”

Mara turned to the servant who bowed his head, “Right this way, Countess.”

The servant lead Mara to the room and quickly departed. Mara waited until she sensed him at another room and left, her domestic's frock in hand. She ducked into into the service halls. It shouldn’t be too difficult to get into the master bedroom now that she had time. The servants were busy so the corridors were more or less deserted. Excellent --

Up until a pair of arms wrapped around her clasping just under her shoulders. It was still a reflexive reaction to drop her weight, swing her hip and slide a leg between his even with the obstruction of the damn dress. Her elbow shot up as she turned, but then he wouldn’t be much of a Jedi, if he didn’t release her just as her arm slid into gear, missing the elbow with the slightest tilt of his head -- if for him it wasn’t just as easy as pivoting on the leg between both of hers, and stepping forward with his other, stepping _into_ her, arm previously at her back somehow catching both of her wrists and pulling them up.

Mara’s back hit the doorway none too gently, but Luke’s mouth had already slid over hers, rich enough to put wine to shame, his free hand cupping her cheek, gliding down her neck and collarbones, splaying itself over her breast, as it roamed down to her hip.

He half pulled away, “You didn’t--” 

She darted forward, interrupting him with her lips on his, a nip at his bottom lip. His tongue pressed in and it was as good as the first kiss had been. That is, until he pulled away again -- probably to say something stupid -- and now he was too far for her to reach due to his grip on her wrists. 

She could feel the warmth of his panted breaths on her lips, and she lost her dignity there for a second, darting her head forward uselessly. Not that he could see, his eyes were shut as he closed the scant inches between them, their legs still interlocked, and dropped his head to her neck. He smelled like spice, probably from the party, but under it, just him stripped down to the basics of soap, water, and skin. Just that made her feel wringing-wet and desperate, like at any minute now she'd melt right out of his hold.

“You didn’t stay for the main course.” 

It was just as stupid as she'd thought, but she was vibrating loud enough to make sound as he nuzzled her neck, and _did_ \-- some mortifying squeak as he sucked a kiss on her pulsepoint, hips hitching against her. Hers only too happily followed suit and they arched into each other with all the restraint of starving Wookies at a nerf banquet for a few frantic seconds.

“No fair..,” he grunted against her mouth, “...the blonde.” 

She wasn't sure what he was talking about. He might not be either. “Kriff the blonde,” she hissed, rubbing herself on him like a lothcat. He was hard against her which was infuriating for all the clothes -- a problem of increasingly large proportions.

His laugh was short and gaspy. “I inten--”

Luke sensed them first, naturally, and before she registered what was happening other than,outrageously enough, him _not_ all over her like cream on a pastry, he’d pulled her behind some voluminous drapes. 

Servants. Two. She heard their footsteps as they entered the room. She snuck a look through where the drapes met. Her domestic’s frock...

...was left on the floor.

This all reminded her why she didn’t want him here. 

Mara counted down silently. When she felt her focus return, she closed her eyes and drew on the Force to push the frock to the wall, and under a table where, hopefully, it wouldn't be noticed.

She turned her head once she was done, relaxing a little. Luke was beside her, his hand on her arm. His hold had softened, and he idly rubbed her arm. A few heartbeats later his hand had snaked from her arm across her back so that it ended over her shoulders. He leaned his head down, cheek against her shoulder, and she felt him sigh, a warm puff of air over her collarbone.

Mara closed her eyes at the squeeze in her chest, different from the headiness of just a few moments ago.

The servants were still there. How much time had she lost? She wanted to be done here already. 

She reached up to where his hand lay on her shoulder and covered it with hers, gave it a squeeze. 

Luke hesitated, and then his warmth soaked into her in a burst, not too different from diving into a thermal spring, scalding at first, right before every muscle went limp. Mara felt herself sag a little, Luke’s hand falling to her waist to take on more of her weight as she leaned more heavily on him.

She didn’t dwell in the feeling for long, rolling her shoulders back, straightening herself up. The servants had just left, and she zoomed right out of the drapes and back into the room. She needed to get that final piece of the statue.

Mara left the room without a look back.

\--

A few minutes later Mara was going down the corridor of the fifth floor and reached the master bedroom. 

This piece of the statue stood on the bedside table. Like the others, it too fit easily inside her clutch. She ducked right out of the room and began her return back, once again taking off the frock and tucking it into her clutch before she got to her floor. As she went down the hall to the guest room where she'd been, she heard voices in the distance.

"...woken?" Meriden. She must have been asking a server. Mara was too far to hear the response. 

Shavit.

Mara could appear later and tell Meriden she’d woken up and intended to go back to the party, but had gotten lost. It wouldn’t be the easiest sell, but she could do it. 

It’d be sloppy. 

So all Mara could do was run to the room next to it and hope she got there on time. She hauled herself right out the window, knowing that from the holos and from the blueprints that there was a windowsill outside she could use. In her hand, she already had the mini stokhli spray stick she'd packed specifically for this contingency. All she needed would be a bridge between the windowsill in the room she'd left and the guest room. She pointed the spray stick in that direction against the wall and mist shot out, solidifying into a hard pasteel-like substance against the duracrete between the two windowsills.

Mara began walking quick as she could while being careful. Meriden might reach the room first, but she had to make the attempt. She ignored the lights of the speeders in the distance, the walkway snaking around the building a good fifty feet below, the whooshing wind, and chilly cold.

She finally got to the window, used the Force to slide it oven and stepped into the darkened room, tossing herself on the luxurious four post bed just as Meriden opened the door.

“Duchess,” she heard Luke call softly.

Meriden turned around immediately and stepped out of the room. “Master Skywalker, what can I do for you?”

“Nothing, I was just wondering how the Countess was.”

“I was just going to find out. I’ll let her know you were concerned.”

Mara heard him thank her and felt him leave, Meriden walking in after. Mara let out a breath. She hadn’t needed his intervention, but it wasn’t in his nature not to want to extend a hand, regardless. Some things would never change.

“Elsbeth? Lights. Low.”

Mara covered her eyes a little as the lights came on. 

“Meriden.” She faked a yawn, sitting up, pushing the clutch behind her as she did. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been such a terrible guest.”

Meriden sat on the bed. “Stop that. Do you feel better?”

“I do.” She let out a sigh. “I should have asked about the ingredients first -- it's just so rarely used back home...Was the Viscount angry?"

Meriden waved a hand. "Of course not. He took it as a little bit of excitement for the party, that is all." 

"That's a relief. I...I think I should be heading on home now." Mara brought a hand to her head. "The medicine -- it just...drains me.”

“You can spend the night, if you're too tired. Goodness knows my uncle has the space.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn't," Meriden insisted. "It's part of being a good host.”

“All the same. The embarrassment of it...” Mara shook her head.

“Well, the offer stands.” Meriden eased herself off the bed. “But do rest here as long as you need to. You don’t need to leave right this moment.” 

Mara thanked her, feeling a sense of deja vu, another time, another place, a grandfatherly general then, but kindness for nothing. What had become of him?

“It’s nothing. Oh," Meriden continued. "Master Skywalker was asking about you.”

Mara waved a hand. “Give him my apologies as well.” She paused. “Did you talk to Isma?”

Meriden nodded.

“And?”

“We’re in conversation.”

“Ah.” Mara lifted her brows. “Promising.”

“One can only hope. Do be careful on your way home. Those air taxies can be such ruffians. Would you like us to comm for a speeder? I can do it right now. I’d feel so much better--”

“No, no,” Mara shook her head. “I’m perfectly fine getting myself home.”

“Are you sure?” 

Mara nodded with some strained patience. Always harder to keep a cover once the job was done. “Go. Keep negotiating.”

Meriden leaned forward to give her an air kiss on both cheeks. “Message me later, we’ll do brunch,” she said with a flourish and walked out. 

Mara waited a few minutes and walked out, staying behind some potted plants. Isma was waiting by the entrance to the patio where the guests had dispersed after dessert was over. Isma fell into step beside Meriden as soon as she approached.

Mara was about to leave when she caught sight of Luke his own caf in hand, in a circle with a Devaronian, an Anx, and several Twi’lek. He was explaining something, his hands making sweeping gestures as they stared on.

She should really get herself home.

But instead she gave just the tiniest Force shove to the Twi'lek server nearest the Devaronian next to Luke. The server lost her footing and bumped into the Devaronian, the Devaronian bumped into Luke...

Mara left just as the surprised, “Oh!”s, and the “I’m so sorry”s, followed by “Let me get you a napkin,” from one of the Twi’leks lifted up into the air. 

Mara went towards the guest room and exited out the window, went back out the windowsill tight and used her spray stick. She drew herself against the duracrete of the building until she arrived at to the refresher. A gentle pull with the Force and the catch slid to the side so she could let in herself in. 

“I’ll get a stain remover--” Mara overheard a flustered server say, probably the one she'd pushed. 

“It’s fine, really.” Luke walked in, the dark stain of his spilled caf conspicuous even on the black of his vest, belt with lightsaber conveniently in hand, napkins around it.

“But it will be just--”

One look at Mara sitting on the windowsill on the other side of the refresher and he shut the door so quickly you’d think he’d found a rancor inside and didn't want it to get into the party.

Mara wasn’t particularly worried, she wasn’t visible from outside the door from this angle. She tilted her head and the antique lock behind him slid shut. Luke beamed so hard it almost melted the cosmetics right off her face.

“You’re getting good at that.” He placed the belt and lightsaber on the vanity.

“Just practice.”

“You got everything you came for?”

“Almost.” She put her clutch beside her.

“What’s left?”

“Drop the ingenue act.”

He smirked. “Does that mean you changed your mind?”

She pushed herself off the sill and walked up to him. “No.”

He leaned forward, she could almost feel his lips by her ear. “I don’t think that’s true.”

His hand went to her hip and she tipped her head back. She wondered if he would kiss her, but his eyes only lingered on her. Restlessness prodded at her and she meant to step away out of reflex, but the hand at her hip tightened. 

“The spill was you?” 

She smiled. “You made me spill my wine.” She stepped forward dropped a hand to work the fastenings of his pants, his breathing had sped up, but he captured the hand, cupped her face with his other and kissed her. Like a match being lit, her arms wrapped around his neck, mouth parting under his, pressing herself against him while he swept his hands down her back, cupping her ass and grinding into her with a hushed moan. 

She broke off, hands now at his shoulders, scraped her teeth lightly by his jaw as she pushed off his jacket. Down it went, and then there was that blasted vest and she would yank it open and off, damn the buttons -- his own fault anyway -- but he grunted out a clear protest and multitasked, kissing her ravenously while working them off. Soon it was on the floor and he was lifting her onto the vanity, still kissing her, all the while fumbling with the yards of fabric of her dress to get it over her hips and get her underwear off. 

“All night,” she muttered between kisses, ignoring the plaintive note underneath her own words. “You’re too distracting.”

Luke laughed, hot and delicious against her skin while she twisted and burned, shivered at the open mouthed kisses he trailed down her neck, her hands clutching at his arms. His hand stroked along her outer thigh, other hand still at her hips.

“Holdout?” he asked between pants before bringing his lips to hers again. She slid her hands up to his nape as the hand at her thigh traveled under her dress to her midriff. She took her earlier judgement back, she’d miss not having his hair to pull as she writhed under his tongue.

“Home.” He made a noise that sounded skeptical. She darted her head away for a tease, the brush of her lips against his. He didn’t allow it, hand at the back of her head, nipping at her lower lip, leaving a stinging kiss that made her arch, but he was still not close enough. She scooted to the edge, half off the vanity, her lower back protesting the dig of it. 

“Blades?” he panted next as her hands ducked under his shirt, rucking it up so she could spread her palms over his sides, feeling the play of muscle under his skin as he brushed kisses just under her jaw. 

Mara wasn’t sure why he was asking. His hands had been pretty much everywhere tonight. He’d know. Besides, this wasn't that type of job.

“Home.” His hands drifted under the dress and over her breasts. He drew away with a disapproving sound, _tugging_ at the top of her dress, and Mara clean lost her patience.

"So help me," she hissed, because it was ridiculous that his pants and underwear were down, her underwear was off, and he was _still_ not inside her. "If you don't fuck me right now--"

Hands bracketing her hips, Luke took it as the request it was, lowering her onto his cock with a groan.

Mara's legs wrapped around his hips, she jerked back like he was high voltage, arched as he thrust in again. It was just...it’d been too long and she reached up for his collar meaning to snap at him not to _dare_ go slow, but he’d already sped up and the only thing left of the impulse was a moan.

He shifted on the next thrust and she was sparking up, soaked in sensation, and damn him, Luke rasped into her ear, “Should I...say Elsbeth or Countess... when I come?”

There was a dash of indignance -- gone with the hard shove of his hips, the angle making her whimper for more. He eased up, but it was to add a grind as he drove in, every thrust better than the last. She drew breath, and Luke plucked his name from her lips with a quick, graceless kiss, hips still pushing against her. The heat of him seeped through the fabric of his shirt as she clutched at his shoulders, slid her hands up to pull his head down, burying her face in his neck as she tilted her hips, already shivering. Luke's hands tightened on her hips, but he pulled away, grasped her left leg from where she had it wrapped around his hip, pushed it back to a bend as he kept the tempo of his thrusts.

And then she was shrieking.

High enough to startle Luke for a second, it echoed through the refresher, but by then he was swept into his own release, grip on her hip tightening even more as she continued spasming. Afterwards, when he’d just barely sank his head down just underneath her chin, catching his breath, just as that throbbing bruise at her lower back started clamoring for attention, a knock at the refresher door pounded through the air.

“Master Skywalker?” 

Luke sprang from her like a spooked mynock. 

“Master Skywalker?” Mara thought it might be the server who had trailed him earlier, sounding very concerned now. “Are you alright?”

“Ye-yeah. Totally fine. Yes. Great,” he stammered, panic clear through his face and sense, airtight shielding a little off. Mara wanted to chortle, but quickly, if a bit unsteadily, cleaned herself, grabbed her underwear, and pulled it on as he also rushed to do the same.

There was a sudden bustle outside the door, various voices just outside talking a mile a minute.

"--was that?"

"A woman?"

"What woman?"

The server's voice lowered but was still audible, "No woman, there's just Master Skywalker --"

"Oh my --"

"No!"

"You can't be--"

"Shhhhh!"

The server's voice rose as she said tentatively, “We heard a...a noise.”

“No. No, no noise. I’m okay,” Luke called out, voice going back to a carefully feigned casual as he tucked in his shirt and shot an outraged look in Mara’s direction.

“Are you sure?” the voice insisted as he bent to grab the belt and lightsaber which had ended up on the floor. Mara darted over to press a soft kiss to his lips on his way up.

“Master Skywalker?”

He had to break off, distracted, and Mara knew he’d started working through damage control as he grabbed his jacket. 

“Positive. I’m okay. Be right out..in a second... some of it got _in_ my lightsaber...had to take it apart..." 

Mara snorted sharply, getting a glare from Luke, but kept her laugh mostly silent. She handed him his vest as a peace offering.

She couldn't make out the conversation outside anymore, but it sounded like furious whispering. 

The server’s voice was more cautious as it rose again. “You know...I’ll just...I'll just...leave the stain remover right here,” she called tentatively as Mara went up the sill, grabbed her purse and slid out the window, leaving Luke to his plausible deniability. “For...whenever you’re ready.”

The last thing she heard was his protest, "Oh, no, that's not necessary, I'm done," and the sound of the refresher door opening. "Just the vest, I think I'll ..."

She did chuckle to herself as she walked over to the room where she’d left from with the aid of the spray -- the previous bridges she'd made already evaporating into the night air. The party was in full swing and she didn’t run into any guests as she made her way out, taking the turbolift down to the walkways which linked Coruscant’s many spacescrapers, making the topmost level. The domestic's frock conveniently turned into a cloak.

A good twenty or thirty minute walk later, she arrived to the landing pad where she’d left her speeder. After keying in the hangar doors open. Mara gazed at the vehicle within fondly, maybe a bit wistfully. It was a smooth, shiny top of the line model, a pity it belonged to the organization not her. These things were making more and more of a difference.

But that was fine for a little bit longer. She climbed in and started it up, the repulsors whirring. Once she hit the thrusters the speeder all but purred. What would she do, if not loop back around the way she came towards the walkways under the Viscount’s penthouse?

They were near empty at this time of night, save for one cloaked form. Mara pulled up the speeder along the side of the walkway and slid back the tinted windows.

“Need a ride?” 

The hood obscured most of his face, but she knew Luke’s eyes were skimming the speeder appreciatively, could feel it when they perched on her more so.

“As a matter of fact,” she could hear the grin in his voice, too, “I do.”

“Get in then.”

He did and she slid the windows up. He pushed the hood of his cloak back, leaned over and kissed her greedily, like he hadn’t just fucked her half an hour ago, like he hadn’t seen her in nearly two months. 

Or seven weeks, four days, and twenty hours, to be precise.

But who was counting?

It’d been difficult not to give into it. The night was done already. Mara didn’t even try. He didn't either, and it was that rush of warmth again, like a wave crashing over her. It was always a little difficult to adjust at first, so overwhelming she felt drunk as she clasped it to herself until it eased to the fringe of her awareness, smoothing down to a murmur, and then she couldn't imagine him _not_ being there.

Luke broke away, hand at her cheek. “You’re single-handedly driving my reputation to the ground, you know.”

“Serves you right," she scolded. "You just got on-planet, couldn’t you have waited?”

He smirked, self satisfied to the point of smugness. “No.”

Her stomach growled loudly.

Luke laughed and dropped another quick kiss on her lips, before sitting back. “Let's go home.”


End file.
